


Doesn’t Matter What I Remember

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Sam Hallucinates, spoilers for episode 12.11 “Regarding Dean.”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: Maybe it’s because they both almost lost each other again. That’s part of what makes Dean do it, but mostly it’s the essay he read in a magazine in the laundromat. Sometimes the right words find you just when you need to read them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters only my words. Idea from a random “i[magine your otp](http://teamfreewill-.tumblr.com/post/155460224819/i-love-being-horribly-straightforward-i-love)” tumblr post. Written for the 2017 wincest-bigbang. Thank you so much much stargazingchola you were the best to work with and I'm so excited for everyone to get to enjoy your art.

  
Art Masterpost:[ LJ ](https://stargazingchola.livejournal.com/7674.html)and [Tumblr](http://winchesterchola.tumblr.com/tagged/doesnt-matter-what-i-remember)  
  



	2. Chapter 1 of 3

 

It all started while he was sitting in the Cherokee, Kansas laundromat, listening to the suckiest-ever muzak version of “Moonlight Serenade.” Dean had stuck right where Sam had parked him after the hunt so he could go off to the antiquarian bookstore down the block by himself. As Dean listened to the tinkling notes of the song being murtalized, he realized that this was probably close to the tenth time in a year that one of them had died or come one step away from dying. The horrible music swelled towards its crescendo and he picked up one of the tattered magazines from the small table next to him. So sue him, he liked the real deal when it came to Glenn Miller, now that he knew the difference thanks to the stash of vintage vinyl the Men of Letters had left behind in the bunker.

 

Dean opened the magazine up and tried his best to ignore both the music and his horrible thoughts of either of them dying again, scanning for good recipes to try out. Usually he would just look stuff up on the internet while he was in the kitchen cooking, but they were probably stopping for groceries on the way home tonight, and it’d be good to have a new recipe in mind to try out. Sam had been looking too thin again, what with all the stress with Lucifer on the loose and being in a secret Super-Max prison; oh and Dean just almost losing his whole damn mind. One of those was probably a reason if not _the_ reason.

 

In the future, Dean could never quite be sure why he had read the article in the first place, it was very wordy, and usually he skipped stuff like that in women’s magazines, too depressing to contemplate the mundane lives so many people lived. But there had been something about the font size and shape that had caught his eye, and then the words, well the words, they had made his heart skip several beats.

 

_“I love being horribly straightforward._

_I love sending reckless text messages_

_(because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?)_

_and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist._

_I love saying, Kiss me harder, and You’re a good person, and, You brighten my day._

_I live my life as straight-forward as possible._

_Because one day, I might get hit by a bus._

_Maybe it’s weird._

_Maybe it’s scary._

_Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands._

_But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate._

_And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care._

_We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are._

_We never know who needs us back._

_We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans._

_We never know when the bus is coming._

_—_

[ _Tell the People you Love You Love Them_ ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fthoughtcatalog.com%2Frachel-c-lewis%2F2013%2F12%2Ftell-the-people-you-love-when-you-love-them%2F&t=NGM2ZTJmNmUzMzUyZjc4OWI3MzEyMTBlMjcyYmEyMDk2NWM1OTQxZCw4VnZiTGNnRA%3D%3D&b=t%3AqRmy_HeMYY1qeMos5RgzJg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fteamfreewill-.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F155460224819%2Fi-love-being-horribly-straightforward-i-love&m=1) _(Rachel C Lewis)_

 

Dean had never recognized himself more in someone else’s writing since the last time he’d re-read Vonnegut. He felt tears coming to his eyes and quickly wiped at them, not wanting any of the old ladies lurking around the laundromat to come over and do something horrible like offer him comfort.

 

He had his cellphone out and the texting app open without even thinking about it, all the possible horrible consequences, the reasons he never did this sort of thing didn’t matter anymore. The words he’d just read echoed and sang through his heart, leaving behind a clearly marked path between all the walls and traps he’d left for himself. It was well past time that he needed to say this. Sam deserved it, especially after this last week taking care of his big brother as he’d slowly lost his mind. His self just disappearing into tattered remnants of something barely recognizable, slipping through his fingers. The only thing left worth remembering had been Sam, only Sam.

 

_Dean:_

_I didn’t tell you this before when we were with Rowena._

_You were the only thing I could remember at the end._

_I heard you scream over the phone and I still knew you, Sammy._

_That’s how deep you are inside of me, the very core of me is about you._

_Always has been, always will be._

 

Before he sent the text, he read the article over again, and it resonated in the same powerful way, it was still what he needed to do. He pressed his thumb down onto the send text button just as Sam walked in through the door; the old brass bell jingling merrily to announce his brother’s entrance. Dean could hear the French horn sound that Sam had always had set as his text message alert as he walked a few steps closer. But thankfully Sam didn’t pull out his phone, so he didn’t read the message Dean had just sent.

 

 _Oh holy shit, thank god, not right here, not right now_. Dean’s heart sank as he felt a hot flush of familiar regret pass through him. This could not go down in a goddamn laundromat of all places, whatever was going to happen, _not here, please_.

 

“We almost done here?” Sam asked, flopping into one of the rickety plastic yellow chairs next to him, banging the back of his head softly against the window.

 

“We?” Dean asked with the mocking tone Sam would expect. “Yeah, almost, it’ll be five minutes maybe a little more. Thought it was time to finally wash the car blankets. Figured it’d be better using one of these big machines instead of the smaller one at home,” Dean said.

  
Sam grunted and closed his eyes, settling back into a position that resembled his usual stance in the passenger seat, but now he was able to stretch out those long legs of his. Dean ran his eyes over his brother, from the top of his dirty boots all the way up to the top of his shiny hair. It was glowing so bright around the edges as the setting sun’s light poured through the window.

 

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Sam asked without opening his eyes.

 

 _How does he do that?_ Dean thought as he elbowed Sam to distract from what felt like his own noticeably red face. “Just checking you’re still all in one piece.”

 

“My pieces are doing fine, thanks,” Sam said, crossing his hands over his middle and hugging himself, big hands wrapping around his own elbows.

 

Their last dryer finally stopped tumbling and Dean pushed himself up to standing, his back still sore from the fight with the witches, not great but he could probably tough it out. Then something twinged sharp and sudden in his lower back making him stumble.

 

“You okay, Dean?” Sam asked, his eyes suddenly open wide with concern.

 

Dean realized he must have groaned loudly enough for Sam to comment on. He shrugged and tried to walk it off, but he had to grab onto the nearby handles of the dryers just to stay vertical. Sam was at his side in a flash, holding him up with a warm and solid arm around his waist. He turned them back towards the chairs and helped Dean sit back down.

 

“Let me do the rest, okay? Just tell me which ones are ours?” Sam asked.

 

Dean pointed out the three dryers he’d been using and tried to deep breathe through the back spasm. God this shit hurt, he hated getting old. Well no, that wasn’t exactly true, he was kind of amazed that he was getting a chance to do it. Especially with Sam alongside him going gray way before he did.

 

His eyes landed on the glossy magazine, page still open to the essay or poem or whatever you would call the thing. He slowly ripped that one page out, then folded it up neatly, slipping it into his back pocket. He took his phone out again and sent Sam another text, expanding on his earlier confessions, just because why the hell not?

 

_Dean:_

_I hate that I’m getting old and achy like this._

_It seems so damn lame._

_But it’s pretty amazing that I’m this old at all._

_I’m glad I’ve gotten the chance to make it to this advanced age with you alongside me._

_That makes it all better._

_That and that you’re going gray before me._

 

He watched his brother’s small reaction as the French horn text alert sounded again. Again, Sam didn’t bother to pull his phone out, just kept stuffing the folded laundry into the duffel bag.

 

Dean watched him then, while he had the free chance to. His brother was objectively a very beautiful person, someone who didn’t even know Sam would have to agree. Sam was gorgeous, and Dean did know him. Well, he knew most of him, at least the part Sam shared with him. And that was kind of the point of the essay thing wasn’t it? Taking that risk to let the other person know you wanted that, to know everything about them? He felt his stomach flutter with something he was not going to call butterflies because, just…no. Maybe more like pixies, those little fuckers could pack a punch.

 

Sam would read his messages while they were in the car. That was Dean’s bet here. And that meant he wouldn’t be able to bail out at freeway speeds. Dean was counting on that. He’d at least want his half of the laundry that was now stuffed into the bulging duffel bag Sam was hefting off the sorting table. He admired Sam’s long legs one more time and put his phone away. Sam stopped in front of him and offered him an arm to pull himself up with.

 

Dean growled because he was supposed to, but he was supremely grateful that Sam just got it, without him having to beg for help. Sam already knew, because they’d both been here before, way too many times. And how many more would there be? The metaphorical ‘being hit by a bus’ had happened to both of them too many times to keep track of at this point in their lives. He reminded himself that was why he’d taken the risk of sending those two tweets.

 

Sam helped him through the door and down the small flight of stairs to the parking lot, the spring twilight smelled good mixed with the homey smell of the laundromat. He leaned a bit more heavily on Sam than was strictly necessary and paused as they neared the trunk of the car, starting to head around to the driver’s side as usual.

 

Sam tugged at his arm and stopped him. “Nu-uh, dude, I’m driving us the rest of the way home, you need to stretch out in the back or something, take one of those Aleve things, they work pretty well.”

 

“I don’t…” Dean protested, giving up when he saw Sam’s serious-business face. He dug the keys out of his pocket and handed them over with a shrug to hide his gratefulness.

 

Sam opened the trunk to stow the duffel, but first he pulled out the newly washed car blankets. “I don’t want to put up with your bitching for the next week. Five hours sitting up driving is not going to help things, you know that, right?” Sam unlocked the car and opened the back door, folding up one of the blankets for a pillow and laying the other one down on the seat.

 

“No playing your history podcasts though, only music,” Dean insisted, gingerly laying down in the Impala’s back seat. The warmth from the just-dried blanket soaked up into his body and he almost cried with relief at how good it felt.

 

Sam just slammed the door as he climbed in, laughed and handed him the bottle of Aleve from the glovebox along with one of the water bottles over the back seat. “Here, drink up.”

 

Dean let his fingers linger for a second and a half longer than usual, feeling the warmth of Sam’s big hand soaking into his own, as he grabbed the water bottle. Sam was always so much warmer, big guy, big heat, whatever, why the hell was he practically holding his brother’s hand?

 

“You’re really acting weird, it’s not your memory again, right?” Sam asked, voice gone quiet with real worry.

 

Dean grabbed at Sam’s hand since it was still there and squeezed it briefly, meeting Sam’s worried eyes. “I’m okay, just hurts a lot, thanks for makin' me lie down, Sammy.”

 

Sam squeezed his hand back and rubbed his thumb in a little circle on the back of Dean’s hand that made Dean’s insides turn over in the worst and best possible way. His giant of a brother was so damn gentle, the best combination in the world really.

 

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. Dean felt his heart sink, knowing he’d let too much of what he was feeling show through. Those words he’d read were really doing a number on his self-control. Well, it wasn’t going to matter when Sam finally read his text messages, just the thought of that made Dean’s heart bounce back up again, with the tiniest bit of hope. God he was pathetic.

 

Sam finally let go of Dean’s hand so Dean laid down the rest of the way, squirming around to get comfortable. The car hadn’t started up yet, so he watched Sam fiddle around, readjusting the mirrors and plugging his iPod jack into the stereo. His brother’s hair curled up in the most perfect way and he imagined it had to be tickling against the back of Sam’s neck. Dean wished he could just brush his fingertips against that soft skin, or maybe his lips. He looked up again and saw Sam looking at him in the rear-view mirror with the strangest glint in his eyes.

 

Sam shrugged out of his jacket in a flurry of long arms and grunts, flying hair, then he was turning, leaning over into the backseat and covering Dean with the coat. Dean felt warmed from below and above, with the additional bonus of having the intoxicating and comforting scent of his brother filling his senses from the jacket tucked up under his chin. Sam smiled down at him and patted him in the center of his chest, his hand pressing him into the seat like he was telling him to stay down.

 

“Get some rest,” Sam said, turning back to the steering wheel. He started the engine and tore out of the parking lot. At least that’s what it felt like getting slung around in the back seat.

 

“Hey, slow it down, Andretti!” Dean squawked, bracing himself against the back of the front bench seat.

 

Sam downshifted and sped up, getting up to freeway speed quickly. Dean could hear him chuckling, but at least there wouldn’t be any sharp corners on the freeway. The playlist of songs Sam started up weren’t too bad, Dean laid there watching the night sky pass by, a cloudy moon winking in and out of view, listening to the lyrics and wondering again about those words he’d read today.

 

His hands were on his phone before he had really thought about it, he typed out a quick message and sent it to Sam.

 

_Dean: Just in case something happens before we make it home since you’re driving. I’m kidding, I’m glad you are, thanks for making me lie down back here._

_You know I always resist you taking care of me, but I appreciate it._

_Anyways the thing I need to tell you just in case something happens to me again:_

_I’m glad we have a place to call home._

_I hope you’re happy there, with me._

_It’s what I’ve always wanted, us somewhere safe together, still fighting the fight side by side._

_And I feel lucky, Sammy, so damn lucky that you’re still with me._

_I love you more than I can ever say, so like the jackass I am, I never do say it._

 

Once he’d heard the French horn sound, muffled but nearby, he sent a different one to Mom, because why not? She was someone he wanted to make sure knew how he felt, just in case. Then that meant Jody got one, and Cas too, god knew you had to spell things out with him to get anything across. He drew the line at Crowley and Rowena, because he didn’t think they’d get what he was trying to do, and he didn’t have Rowena’s number.

 

Dean put his phone away and cuddled up a little more with Sam’s jacket, breathing the smell of his brother in a little deeper, letting his body relax as the Aleve kicked in. That was when he felt the heavy rectangular lump that was Sam’s phone digging into his side. He dug around and pulled it out of Sam’s jacket pocket and ran his fingers over the whole thing, trying to decide.

 

The messages that he’d sent were in here, on this device, and he could delete them now. They’d disappear, Sam would never know about them, the risk would be averted like that. It would be the chicken-shit thing to do of course, but if Sam read those messages, it would change everything. The chance he’d taken in sending them was huge. He could maybe lose Sam over it, that was a real possibility if Sam figured out what he was really trying to say.

 

He thumbed in his own birthday month and year to unlock Sam’s phone, smiling a little to himself that it was still the passcode that Sam used. The lock screen picture of Jody and Donna smiling and toasting with wine glasses disappeared. The background of Sam’s phone screen looked familiar, he felt like he ought to know what was in the picture behind all the app icons. He turned the phone sideways and then gave up and went into the settings to the place where you changed your background screen. He pulled up the picture that Sam had chosen and his jaw dropped open. It was the green plastic army man, the one stuck in the armrest ashtray right behind his head.

 

He reached back and felt around until he could touch the shape of the little plastic thing, wedged into the ashtray all these years. He’d always left it in there, all the times he’d had to re-do his baby, not ever thinking about it. The thing was just was part of the car, like the dome light and the turn signal stem. Hell, even Sam’s iPod jack fell into that category now.  Why would that be the background picture Sam chose though?

 

Dean couldn’t come up with a good explanation for the army man picture. He knew it was probably a good memory of childhood or something. He laid down Sam’s phone and grabbed his own, thumbing out a quick question.

 

_Dean: What’s the deal with the army man picture? Just a good childhood memory for you or what? I’ve always left the little guy stuck in there because he’s part of the car at this point, just like the Legos that rattle in the dashboard, the sticky turn signal and even your iPod jack. Just curious._

 

After hearing the French horn alert sound, he couldn’t manage to stop himself from going into Sam’s messages. He pulled up all the ones he’d just sent today. He read them over a couple times, and closed the whole thing down, tucking it back into Sam’s jacket pocket where it belonged. He’d laid his cards on the table, now it was time to see what sort of reaction Sam would have once they got home and his brother read them himself.

 

Dean fell asleep and dreamed of tumbling in a dryer as big as the car, blankets and jackets and phones, Sam’s hair in his eyes, in his mouth. No, it really was Sam’s hair falling in his mouth. “Dude, your damn hair!”

 

Sam backed out of the position he’d been crouched in over Dean. “Sorry, I was trying to figure out how to get you out without waking you up, we’re home.” He blinked a few times, waiting to hear what Dean would say.

 

Dean lifted a hand up and Sam grabbed it, pulled him out of the car gently and helped him stand, he kept an arm firmly around Dean’s waist as they walked into the bunker. It was always good to get home, he thought as he hit his bed face first. He vaguely felt Sam undoing his boots and pulling off his jacket, and then he was back in the car-sized dryer, tumbling through the air, trying to catch Sam as he cartwheeled past.

 

****

 

When he woke up in the morning at first he couldn’t figure out why his lower back was so warm. He laid there, face pressed into the pillow, enjoying the feeling of the heat soaking into where he’d been hurting. It didn’t hurt nearly as much, he could tell by moving his legs. He reached back and felt the heating pad, Sam must have put it on him when they got in last night. Finally he got himself up, sitting for a second on the edge of the bed, his phone hit the floor, tumbling out of his pocket. Then he remembered—oh damn…the messages.

 

Shit—would Sam still be here in the bunker? Or would he be long gone over the horizon?

 

He checked to see if he had any messages, Jody and Mom had both answered his texts from last night. He was really touched to see their confused yet sweet responses. Cas hadn’t replied which wasn’t surprising, he tended to answer texts in person in the midst of other conversations. But there weren’t any replies from Sam. His heart sank and he wondered again if Sam was even still around.

 

He realized that taking the advice of an article in Ladies’ Home Journal had probably been a bad idea. And sending Sam a bunch of reckless text messages without any warning or explanation was not going to have a predictable outcome. He wasn’t sure what he had expected Sam to do.

 

The day before, when he’d been sitting there in that laundromat, with the stupid magazine in his hands, stupid damn tears in his eyes, it had all seemed so obvious. Not just like he needed to do it, more like he didn’t have an alternative. The advice to take the chance because who knew when the bus was coming to hit you? That was what had really gotten him. Because he’d actually seen someone hit by a bus, and he knew if it happened to him right now, he wouldn’t want Sam to be left alone without knowing how Dean had really felt. Especially after that _‘So?’ f_ rom Sam in the church a few years ago, as well as everything else that had gone on between them since then.

 

He took another couple Aleve tablets with a finger full of whiskey and climbed back into bed. Flicking through the pictures he had of Sam on his phone made his heart start aching. At least he would still have those to remember Sam by if he’d really left. He almost dropped his phone when the screaming guitar crescendo sounded off telling him that a new text had arrived. He hesitated a few minutes, almost chickening out, flicking through more pictures. But finally he opened up the messaging app and pulled up Sam’s replies. There were a whole lot of them. A lot more than one answer for each of the messages he’d sent yesterday.


	3. Chapter 2 of 3

 

He had to read the last ones over several times to make sure he’d understood it:

_Sam: Not sure this is the pain or the meds talking, but thanks._

_I really needed to hear this from you today._

_Did you know I feel the same way about you?_

_I wish I could just tell you everything, pretty much all the time._

_But I don’t think you could stand it, the weight of it, what I have to say._

_I don’t want to burden you with that when you’ve already got so much to deal with._

_So I don’t say anything. But I want to._

_About the army man picture, it’s because that’s the last thing that tipped the scales over when I was battling Lucifer, back in Stull._

_I saw him stuck there in the ashtray, through the Impala window when my body was about to lay the killing blow to your head._

_When I saw it, it was like it unlocked a flood of memories of us. They flowed through me in this huge rush and then I had him. I had control again._

_So I keep a picture of it to remember that I did that, that WE did that. That’s how we won. The memories of our lives together, how deeply I love you and know that you love me. That rock solid thing is our secret weapon. Always has been, always will be._

That was where Sam left off. And maybe that had to be enough for now. It wasn’t like the whole world could change overnight. But the good thing was Dean could hear his brother’s footsteps in the hall. So he hadn’t left, he wasn’t sending the texts from far away. The relief that swarmed through his guts made him feel itchy all over. He tried to go back to sleep, to put it off, but nature called. He couldn’t hide in his room all day, he was not going to go as far as peeing in his sink, and besides he was hungry.

He debated answering the texts from his brother and almost stopped himself, but he heard the crinkle of the folded up magazine article in his back pocket. _Send reckless texts,_ it reminded him. Well, okay then.

_Dean: Thanks for listening. I’m glad it was what you needed to hear._

_No, I didn’t know you felt the same way. That’s good to know._

_I wish I could tell you everything too._

_I’ll always listen to whatever you have to tell me. This isn’t a time I’ll tell you to shut up, promise._

_Thanks for telling me about the army man picture. I guess he means the same kind of thing to me too, that’s why I leave him stuck in there even when I’ve redone Baby from the ground up. Not that I need a reminder of how much you mean to me, but it’s nice to have him there riding along with us._

***

Sam wasn’t sure what to do, how to handle it, when the new texts from Dean came that morning. The ones from yesterday had been weird enough. He’d barely been able to sleep after reading them. All night he’d composed replies in his head, stopping himself from being honest about something that he’d hardly admitted to himself was easy, because it was what he’d always made himself do.

It wasn’t until he reread the messages one last time and pictured how hard it probably had been for Dean to send them at all that he started typing a reply. That had made him have to respond, he couldn’t ignore what Dean was trying to do, the reaching out, being startlingly honest, all of it. He sent some replies that gave away as little as possible but still were honest enough to give something back to his brother. Maybe he could work up to saying more about the deeper truth, even if it was just in a text.

He was washing up his coffee cup in the sink when he heard his phone ding with the French horn. Was it yet another text from Dean? He dried his hands and slowly walked across the kitchen, folding himself back into the chair. He quickly read the series of texts from Dean and was again surprised at the almost desperate nature of them. Like his brother was worrying that if he didn’t get all this out he’d lose hold of it somehow. Maybe it was related to the whole losing his memory thing. He quickly sent a response.

_Sam: I don’t think I’ve ever told you how glad I am that we still have the Impala. It means so much to me that the home I’ve always known, always counted on is still rolling. And that’s all because of you, Dean, so thank you. Having that continuity as something I can count on has been the crucial difference so many times. But it’s really you, you’re the home I can count on being there for me. Even when I’ve left so many times, you’re still there for me to come back to._

_Breakfast in five? I’m making eggs and toast and there’s coffee._

After he pushed send on the replies, he tried to steady himself a little and prepare for the fallout as he finished off a new cup of coffee in their kitchen. Maybe it would just be another one of a thousand times they didn’t actually talk about something important. He hoped though, he couldn’t help hoping that it would all come out. After what felt like a lifetime of hiding his true feelings from himself and his brother, which come to think of it, it was really, a whole lifetime. Maybe it was finally time for both of them to be honest. _Was that possible for them, though? Finally saying ‘I love you’ to each other was one thing but anything past that? Seemed pretty damn impossible._

Maybe the texting caring and sharing thing was a result of something leftover from Dean almost losing his memory permanently, maybe it didn’t all come back to him the right way. That was possible, Sam knew from too much personal experience, getting your mind messed with took a while to get over. But these texts were so…honest and open, exactly the opposite of how Dean usually acted, even after a close call.

After some thought, Sam decided it was a real possibility that Dean might still be under another spell. Maybe Rowena had tagged him with a sneaky one, or the witches had cast more than the one they’d known about. It had to be something like that, or maybe it was just Dean messing with him. He remembered how Dean had gotten him just the other day, coming down that staircase calling him a hippie. How Dean and Rowena had laughed at his confusion and relief. There hadn’t been time then to be angry about it, all it had meant was that Dean, _his real Dean_ was back. In that moment of sheer relief he couldn’t have loved his brother any more that he already did.

But he still had a duty to check, what if it wasn’t his brother? A shifter, demon or something else could be doing this sort of thing, imitating his brother but getting the emotional part slightly wrong, maybe on purpose to mess them up. These texts, they weren’t close to Dean’s normal m.o. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, their lives being what they were. So he had to go through the usual routine of holy water and silver.

When Dean finally made it into the kitchen, Sam handed him a cup of coffee that had been dosed with holy water. Just as a first test.

“Coffee’s a little watery this morning, we running out of grounds or something?” Dean asked.

“Guess I didn’t count out the right number of scoops, sorry. I can make a new pot if you want,” Sam offered, disappointed that this was the first thing Dean said this morning of all mornings, but happy that the holy water hadn’t affected him.

“Nah, that’s fine, thanks for making it. Sorry, I got up so late today,” Dean said.

“How’s your back doing?” Sam asked.

“It’s better. The heating pad really helped, thanks for thinking of that,” Dean said.

Sam handed Dean a plate of eggs and toast, along with one of the silver-plated forks they had. “You’re welcome, glad it helped.”

He watched as Dean ate, not reacting to the silver or the holy water, relieved that it wasn’t one of the usual things. He’d have to try out that spell he’d found in the search for something to help with Dean’s memory. It was an indicator spell, to tell you if you’d been hexed. Unfortunately, Dean would notice that one because it involved using one’s own blood.

After the breakfast dishes were cleaned up, Sam decided he had to propose doing the spell. He’d never forgive himself if Dean was under someone’s control or if he lost his memory again. He couldn’t go through that particular hell again.

“Hey, uh, I was thinking we should try out this thing I found, to make sure none of that witch’s spell is still active.”

“The memory spell that Rowena told us was all gone?”

“Yeah, I’m…uh, not sure we should trust her one hundred percent, you know?”

“This related to why you’re testing me with holy water and silver at breakfast?” Dean asked, finishing off his coffee.

 _Shit, he noticed, of course he did._ “Yeah, listen, I’m just checking, it’s not a big deal.”

“Hey at least you skipped throwing borax water on me. Why are you checking, though?” Dean asked.

“I’m…just worried that after something that major, there’ll be traces left,” Sam said, hating that he didn’t have the guts to just say what he was really worried about.

“Fine, get it over with then. I’m pretty sure it’s all good, nothin’ left over, except for my back hurting a little,” Dean said.

Sam assembled the ingredients for the spell and had Dean sit in a chair near the ritual bowl on the library table. “I’ll need a couple drops of blood,” he said, holding out a small silver knife to Dean.

Dean frowned and grabbed the knife out of Sam’s hand. He nicked his finger and squeezed some drops of blood into the bowl.

Sam said the words of the spell and added the ingredients one by one, setting it all on fire with a match. It flared up a bright purple for a few seconds and then went out on its own.

“So, am I in the clear or what?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, the purple was the color we wanted to see,” Sam said. “Thanks for…uh letting me try this.”

“Thanks for checking, I guess.” Dean sucked on his finger where the knife wound probably still hurt. He shrugged and left the room. Sam hoped he would get over the idea of being tested like that sooner rather than later. He wished that he’d brought up the onslaught of text messages while they were having breakfast. Now who knew when he’d be able to do it. His phone pinged again with the French horn alert.

_Dean: I wasn’t mad about you testing me._

_It was really smart of you. Which isn’t surprising._

_You’re the smartest person I know._

_Yet another reason I’m really glad you’re on my side._

Sam got this text and he was momentarily stunned. Dean handing out compliments, even in a text was…well it was unexpected. It took him a little while to come up with a good answer that wouldn’t give away too much.

_Sam: I’m glad you let me try the new test out on you._

_And I’m always on your side._

_No matter what._

****

A few days later, they left for their next hunt out in a small Colorado mountain town, just a plain old poltergeist, nothing world-ending this time, thank god. It was almost refreshing in a way, to not think about Lucifer or the British Men of Letters or really anything else for a little bit. Just being together like usual, hunting, doing the usual routine. Except for, this new thing of Dean sending him weird texts.

He couldn’t find a pattern, sometimes they came when they were separated, like Dean was thinking about him instead of the case like he should have been. But sometimes they came even when they were together, like today during a witness interview when Dean was supposed to be checking out the report of a strange smell in the kitchen.

_Dean: I shouldn’t be surprised because most people’s kitchens are gross, but this one is so damn clean, it’s almost suspicious._

_I really like how you let me cook for you, it’s how I always wished I could have taken care of you when were kids. Seeing you enjoy something I made for you is, hard to explain, but it makes me feel good._

_But just so you know, I’m never going to have this kind of cleanliness standards._

He included a picture of the gleaming toaster without a crumb anywhere near it.

Sam chuckled and then blushed a little at Dean’s words about their domestic bliss. It was a bit much when he was sitting here reading right in front of their distressed witness. It was getting distracting wondering when yet another text was going to show up and knock him off the usual routine. And something distracting like this on a hunt was going to get one or both of them hurt or worse. The problem was he liked them, he really really liked them a lot. Dean was being so—real and honest with him in the texts, it was kind of blowing his mind.

*****

They were finally done with the case, kicking back in the motel room with a couple of cold ones when he got another text from Dean who was sitting right across the table from him.

Sam glanced at his phone, but didn’t pick it up. “I don’t get it, Dean. Why are you sending me these texts? Why don’t you just say whatever it is since I’m sitting right here in front of you?” Sam knew his face was a mixture of frustration and maybe a little bit of hope. “It’s been affecting my concentration for this hunt, and I know it was for you too.”

Dean looked like he was about to puke or maybe start yelling and Sam was worried then that he’d missed something important. Dean stood up, drained the rest of his beer and dug something out of his wallet. He threw a folded-up magazine page onto the table and walked out, the door slamming behind him. Sam could hear the Impala start up and take off down the highway.

Sam unfolded the paper carefully, wondering what in the world was going on. He read the words between the creases and everything suddenly made sense. Until it didn’t. This wasn’t a thing that was actually possible, not in his world, not in this shitty life he’d been living. There was no way he’d get everything he’d ever wanted handed to him so easily like this. _No way in Hell._

Hell, oh hell no, Hell. There was only one conclusion he could come to: It had to be Lucifer somehow.

He remembered back to thinking he was hearing God, but it had really been Lucifer sending him visions and messages. That’s what this had to be. It couldn’t possibly be true or real. Sam tried to stop the cascade of worst-case scenarios, tried to hold onto reality. It felt like he was caught in an enormous web of lies and possibilities and realities that were all pulling at him, trapping him, taking up all the air, all the space and absorbing all of the light.

Darkness.

No air.

No room for him.

He detached and felt his brain struggling as something separate. It had been invaded one too many times lately. _He_ had been invaded, taken over, used over and over again. The torture from the British Men of Letters, the isolation in prison, seeing Lucifer walking around free, almost losing Dean again, all of it was too much.

He had to get out of the web—had to find someplace safe. Someplace _they_ couldn’t find him. Michael and Lucifer always knew where to look though. They always found him, no matter how well he hid himself.

***

Dean had known it was coming at some point. He was actually kind of proud of Sam for having held out that long about his new texting habit. He hadn’t anticipated Sam asking like that though, just straight out. He knew it was a chicken-shit response to Sam’s frustration, handing him the page ripped from the magazine, and walking out the motel room door because he still couldn’t bring himself to talk about it in person, out loud. Or even to be there while Sam read the thing that had caused all of this.

When he finally came back, a little drunk but bearing dinner, their room was dark, and seemed empty. His stomach sank at the thought that maybe Sam had left him for good after all. He wouldn't have blamed him really. He switched on the room light and set the plastic bags with their dinner on the table next to Sam’s laptop and cellphone. He wouldn’t have left those behind, so he was probably still here. Dean was just about to call out Sam’s name, but he heard a small gasp behind him.

He turned around quickly, pulling his gun and training it on the spot where he’d heard the sound. Whatever it was sounded like a hurt animal, maybe something trapped between the wall and the bed. He kicked the bed to the side a bit and found him.

Sam was curled up into an impossibly tight ball, he seemed to be trying to hold himself as still as possible, eyes wide and unseeing. Dean instantly knew his brother was in the grip of some kind of hallucination. It reminded him of the ones he’d gotten back when he was hallucinating Lucifer.

“Sam?” Dean asked, crouching down next to his brother’s unnaturally still form, putting a hand on his trembling knee. “Hey, it’s me, I brought us some dinner. Got your favorite kind of soup.”

Sam trembled and shook, his eyes falling shut, the crease of pain between his eyes gone much too deep. “Not falling for it, not this time,” Sam muttered, not opening his eyes.

“Sammy, look at me, c’mon,” Dean asked.

Sam squeezed his eyes tighter, looking like that four year old who had loved to play hide and seek more than anything.

“You look just like you did when you’d count for hide and seek. I used to love playing that with you just to see you make this exact face,” Dean said, letting the fondness he usually tried to keep under wraps color his words, hoping it would help.

Sam’s eyes opened and he looked at Dean with surprise. “Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Sammy. Real, live, technicolor, surround-sound, the whole nine,” Dean said with a smile he hoped was encouraging.

Sam’s body relaxed a little and he seemed to take in a little more breath. “You never tell me things like that.”

“What, memories of you being a little squirt? Dean asked.

“Yeah, but _he_ doesn’t know that stuff, _he_ wouldn’t even know how to lie about it well enough to fool me. _He_ only knows the stuff I remember myself.”

“He’s not here, Sammy, but I am. I’m real,” Dean said, not saying Lucifer’s name in case that would help. He was starting to get worried that Sam wasn’t snapping out of it. “Here, feel me, so you know I’m here, that I’m real.” Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and unfolded it and brought it to rest on his own cheek.

Sam’s hand flexed and then relaxed, the soft fingertips gently grazing his cheek felt so good it make Dean shiver.

“Ticklish?” Sam asked, his voice shaky with emotion.

“No, just feels…uh, feels nice or something,” Dean said, because he couldn’t say what it really felt like—the best thing he’d felt in ages.

Sam’s hand tightened a little, pressing into the line of Dean’s cheekbone. Dean barely held back a moan when the fingers moved, brushing lightly over his ear. Sam was tilting his head a little to the side before Dean saw him moving forwards into his space. Sam’s body transforming from a small ball to a looming presence taking up all of his space in the most wonderful way. With his hand still holding there, gentle and soft on his cheek, Sam guided him in a little closer. It was like there was a landing path to a kiss all lit-up.

*****

  



	4. Chapter 3 of 3

Dean licked his lips and leaned through the last sliver of space that separated them and brushed his lips against Sam’s.

Sam kissed him back, tentative at first, like he was expecting Dean to disappear or morph into Lucifer or worse. Dean tried to let Sam control the speed and intensity of the kiss but his worry about breaking him out of the hallucination made him stop things before they got too crazy.

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean asked, lips moving against Sam’s lips and cheek, kissing the adorable moles he’d always wanted to taste. And oh god, his skin was softer than he’d ever imagined it could be. “You know who I am, right?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Dean,” Sam said with a smile against Dean’s lips.

Dean had always wondered what Sam’s smile would taste like and now he got to find out. And crouched together between the motel bed and wall with his Sam in his arms, kissing like middle-schoolers having their first make out session was of course how this was always going to go. But then his back twinged and twanged at him, interrupting the perfectness of the moment. He pulled away and tried to stand up. It didn’t work until Sam pushed him from behind, so that he landed square in the middle of Sam’s bed in an ungainly heap.

“Your back again?” Sam asked.

“C’mere,” Dean said, holding his arms wide open, making ridiculously demanding grabby hands, because at least he could still do that.

Sam ducked his head, gone adorably shy at Dean’s request, but he folded himself into Dean’s arms. Working his way down so that his head was on Dean’s chest, Sam finally settled on tangling their legs together under the blanket.

“Sorry if I scared you, checking out like that,” Sam said, fingers clenching at Dean’s bicep.

Dean brought a hand up to cover Sam’s. “No sorries, I’m just glad you’re okay. You know what brought it on? It’s been a while since you had one of those.”

“Your reckless texts, they…uh, made it all too unreal.”

“Unreal, hmmm, as in too good to be true?” Dean asked his heart soaring at Sam’s words.

“Yeah, something like that,” Sam answered, tightening his arm around Dean’s waist.

“Well, now I’m the one who’s sorry. Didn’t mean for anything like that to happen. I shouldn’t have chickened out, I should have stuck around while you read that thing.” Dean nuzzled into the top of Sam’s head, breathing in deep the smell that reminded him that he finally held everything he’d ever wanted in his arms. Whatever came next, at least he’d had it for one night.

“No more sorries, sleep now,” Sam said in that demanding little-brother voice Dean had been missing for years now.

*****

Dean woke up to the feeling of his jeans being unzipped and pulled down over hips. Sam’s warm hands felt amazing as they stroked him to hardness beyond just morning wood. He could feel Sam was just as turned on, given the long, hard length poking into his thigh. He moaned at the feeling of Sam’s hand moving over him in a perfect rhythm.

He woke up enough to get his own hand on Sam then, stroking in time, from root to tip. Sam was getting so wet, all of it getting used to make the glide better. He thrust into Sam’s hand when he twisted the right way. He tried the same move out on Sam who reacted with his own thrust.

 _Morning breath be damned,_ he thought as he turned his head to find Sam’s lips, kissing him deeply, tongues tangling in time with their hands moving. They sped up, faster and faster, still in time.

“Come for me, Dean,” Sam whispered into his mouth. The words cutting deep to the last line holding him back. Dean cried out his brother’s name and who knows what else, coming hard, his own hand gripping even harder which pulled Sam’s orgasm out of him. Sam shouted Dean’s name, sounding almost surprised which made Dean laugh. Chuckling against the side of Sam’s neck, they wound down together.

Sam brought his hand up and licked it clean, smiling wickedly as Dean’s eyes went dark at the sight. Dean did the same and enjoyed seeing the same response. Their kiss was flavored with the taste of both them mingling and mixing into something Dean was instantly addicted to. He never wanted to go another day without this.

“I want this, Sammy. Every damn day, you get that, right?” Dean murmured into the soft skin behind his brother’s ear.

“I do, I want it too, Dean, always did,” Sam said, arms going around him and holding him tighter than tight.

Eventually they had to get up, housekeeping knocking on the door for the third time forced the issue. They microwaved the Chinese that Dean had brought last night, it made a decent breakfast that got them out the door and on the road for home.

****

That whole morning in the car, Sam couldn’t help himself staring at his brother. And he knew Dean knew he was doing it, he just couldn’t stop, he didn’t want to—at all. As the miles rolled past, they grew more comfortable together, and it was okay that he was looking. It was more than okay really, Dean seemed to almost glow and preen under his gaze and it made Sam love him even more. It kept surprising him, sneaking up on his quiet heart, this was a real thing now that they openly shared. It was no longer a secret he had to work at hiding from himself or the world.

He had to look up a place for them to stop for lunch so he was searching the Colorado map, tracing their route with his finger when he saw a familiar name. One he hadn’t seen in maybe, seven, eight years by now. Back when they’d just encountered their first horseman of the apocalypse, War. He could picture Dean sitting at that picnic table snarking out geeky jokes about making a pitstop at Mount Doom while fiddling with War’s ring.

That day, that godforsaken horrible day when he’d walked away. Back then he’d been trying his best to save Dean from having to deal with his own endless need for the demon blood. He’d thought that he’d never see Dean again, that when he climbed up into that stranger’s truck with the trailer and took off with just his backpack, that was it for them. The physical reminder of what they’d once shared had been tucked in his front pocket that day, just like it was now. He folded up the map and pressed on it through his jeans, making sure it was still real, still there. Hoping it gave him the familiar bruise on his hip bone that had kept him going through the tough years.

“Could we stop at the rest stop that’s coming up?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice from quavering with emotion. Dean looked over at him sharply, with that worry line between his eyes Sam hated to see. He watched as Dean almost gave him a hard time and then visibly changed his mind. The sign for the rest stop came up and Dean made the turn. They both got out and stretched.

Dean started walking towards the bathroom building but Sam didn’t immediately follow. He stopped and looked back at Sam. “Aren’t you coming? You’re the one that needed to stop,” Dean asked.

“Got something to do first,” Sam said, starting off for the picnic tables at the edge of the cliff. Dean followed him as he’d known he would, his brother’s curiosity was always so easy to rouse.

The same picnic table was still there in the same place, kind of set off alone from the other ones. Only a few families were scattered here and there, eating their lunches out of coolers, one group had a small yipping dog that was chasing the birds on the scrappy lawn. He sat in the same spot where he’d sat eight years ago and waited to see if Dean would remember.

Dean sat across from him with a strange look on his face. Sam half expected to hear that French horn sound alerting him to a text, but he had all of Dean’s attention in the here and now. The moment stretched out long and expectant between them.

“Why are we back here, Sam?” Dean finally asked, the skin around his eyes looking almost bruised with worry.

Sam realized with a jolt that Dean was thinking he was going to leave again, of course he would think that. _Shit._ “Dean, this isn’t about me leaving or anything like that, okay?” Sam asked in a rush, hoping that Dean wasn't too far down the rabbit hole of despair he knew was always waiting to swallow his brother whole.

Dean nodded and visibly swallowed, looking relieved but still worried.

Sam reached across the table between them and held his hands out, waiting to see if Dean would take his or not. Dean looked at him, down at his hands and back up again, a shade of a smile ghosted over the corners of his lips and then their hands were joined there under the Colorado sun.

  
“The last time we were here, I broke us apart, and I thought it was the right thing to do. Something I had to do for your own good, to save you from having to see me… go down that path. And I’m sorry for doing that, leaving you was wrong, it’s always been wrong to leave.” Sam waited a couple of beats to see if Dean would or could respond. This was a whole lot harder than texting confessions back and forth to each other.

“I thought it was the right thing too, at the time. But now I know I never should have let you leave,” Dean finally said, looking across the table at Sam, never flinching or looking away.

Sam smiled then, big and wide, until Dean returned his smile. “And look at us now, huh? Back here in this same place, all these years later, but together, really together. Think about how much we’ve done, what we’ve learned, how far we’ve gone together. It’s all kind of amazing.”

“I’m glad that I got to do it all with you,” Dean said, grinning even wider.

“So, given all that—I want to do something to mark this occasion or whatever you want to call it. But I’m not sure how to do it,” Sam said, hesitating at this last moment, because even though everything and nothing had changed yesterday between them, this was still probably a sore place to be poking at.

“Just go for it,” Dean said, encouraging and curious just as he always was.

Sam let go of one of Dean’s hands, still holding onto the other tightly. He reached into his front jeans pocket and brought it out, clenched in his fist.  Still he hesitated, but the thing that made him go for it was remembering how they’d gotten here, Dean’s reckless texts, that article, the advice to say it, share it, give yourself over to daring to take the chance to make sure your loved ones knew how deeply you loved them.

“I know that you know I still have this thing, that I’ve always had it. But I wanted to…I want to give it back to you officially. You don’t have to wear it or anything, that’s up to you, but I want you to have it back, because it’s always been yours,” Sam finished speaking and took a deep breath, trying to hold his emotions back long enough to get through his brother’s reaction. He opened up his fist and watched Dean realize what he held.

His brother’s eyes seemed to go even greener as they followed the curves of the small brass face in his palm. “Really?” Dean asked in such a quiet voice, Sam could barely hear him.

He leaned forward and caught Dean’s eyes with his own. “Yes, really, Dean.”

Dean reached out and took the amulet out of Sam’s hand, and held it in his own, still not saying anything.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Dean obviously didn’t know what to say or do. His hand clenched over the amulet, his knuckles going white, the points of it no doubt denting his palm. “I am, yeah, I’m okay,” Dean said, looking up with a smile. He stood up from the table then and came around to sit on the bench next to Sam. Dean leaned in and kissed him achingly soft and gentle. “Would you put it on me?” Dean asked against Sam’s lips.

Sam took the amulet from Dean’s hand and spread the cord out wide, and settled it over Dean’s head. It nestled back into its spot on his chest like it had never left. Sam’s hands stayed though, and he could feel Dean’s heartbeat speeding up. He pressed one of his hands over Dean’s heart and leaned down to kiss him, thanking him for accepting his re-gift.

“Wish I had something to give you,” Dean said.

“Don’t worry about it, I kinda sprung this on you. I know you’ll think of something when the time’s right,” Sam said.

****

Dean had one more errand to run before he could get back and start cooking Sam’s birthday dinner. The frame shop was about to close but he made it just before their neon ‘OPEN’ sign flipped off. They were nice enough to wrap up his gift for him, Sam deserved something that wasn’t wrapped in newspaper for once.

When he bustled back into the bunker’s kitchen with the bags of groceries and the gift under his arm he was surprised to see Sam sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold.

“Sam, you okay?” Dean asked after he’d set all the bags and the gift on the counter. Sam seemed so small and still, like he was on the edge of another episode.

“What’s all that for?” Sam asked in a monotone, eyes glancing over the bags on the table.

“It’s for your birthday dinner, it was supposed to be a surprise,” Dean said. “Wait a second, did you think I ditched you on your birthday or something?”

“No…well, I didn’t know where you were,” Sam said in the same horrible monotone.

“Sorry, you were sleeping so deep when I left, I didn’t want to bug you since I knew you stayed up late researching. You could’ve texted or called…oh shit, my phone. I left it in the charger in my room. I didn’t want to come in there and wake you up.”

Sam stood up to leave, his shoulders slumped, yet still tight with tension.

“Can I give you your present before I start making dinner?” Dean asked.

Sam stopped and leaned against the door, still not looking at Dean.

Dean dug the square package out from under the grocery bags and walked across the kitchen, holding it in front of him. The bright wrapping paper and bow seemed silly all of a sudden, he wished it was just newspaper.

Sam took the present and seemed to examine the pattern of the wrapping paper very closely.

“You gonna open it or what? C’mon, back to the table, I don’t want you to break it before you even see what’s inside.”

Sam shook the package, but it only crinkled, nothing broken about it. He took his seat again and moved the coffee cup to the side, setting the present in front of him. His big hands stroked over the sides and ran up the ribbons to the bow. But he still didn’t make a move to open it up.

“You okay?” Dean finally asked as the wait seemed to be abnormally long.

“I’m sorry, yeah—I’m good now,” Sam said, taking a deep breath and finally meeting Dean’s eyes.

Dean could see the unshed tears and he was unsure what was really going on with his brother. Knowing Mr. Worst-Case-Scenario he’d probably been coming up with all sorts of awful reasons for his absence this afternoon. Instead of pressing Sam to detail where his brain had taken him, Dean decided it’d be a gift for him not to have to say it, instead he should open the one in front of him. “Go on, open it. I know you’re dying to see what it is.”

Sam finally smiled, big and wide and Dean felt his shoulders relax at the beautiful sight. He ripped the paper off carefully and took the frame out of the box it was packed in. The foam corners fell off as he lifted it. Dean watched his brother’s face carefully as he realized what he’d had framed for him.

“It’s the actual page isn’t it?” Sam asked, voice quiet with wonder.

“Yeah, it’s the one I ripped out of the magazine back in that laundromat. It’s still kinda wrinkled and creased, but they did their best at the frame place.”

“Thanks, Dean. This is…it’s perfect, I didn’t know you still even had it.”

“It’s the thing that changed everything for us, made it possible for me to do this,” Dean said, leaning across the table to kiss Sam fast and deep. The taste of his mouth still made him crazy, always wanting more of those perfect pink lips. “Now, you want to help me make dinner or what?”

“I want dessert first,” Sam said, getting up from the table and pulling Dean into his arms. Dean didn’t object to being dragged down the hall to their bedroom, it was all up to the birthday boy.  
  
  



End file.
